


Steve Rogers: Come Home

by TheWanderingJade



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I don't know it was a headcanon situation I couldn't get out of my head, a love letter to Brooklyn from Steve Rogers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWanderingJade/pseuds/TheWanderingJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a little headcanon bunny, about the citizens of Brooklyn reminding Steve of his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers: Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> I had a headcanon bunny and this is the result, I put it up on my tumblr too which is under the same name as the pen I use here.

He was sore all over. They all were. It was normal after an ‘ _all-out, no time to talk, how the hell did we manage to get ourselves into this mess, I am going to personally punch the person responsible for this right in the general pelvic region when I’m done here’_ \- sort of fight; none of them was really immune to muscles screaming at them in response to such activity.

Steve was bandaged up, sutures across his forehead that personally made him feel a little foolish and a little bit like a pirate…Perhaps that last part was just the grogginess still clinging to his brain as he mentally convinced his feet to keep pushing him across the cool tile and towards the divine scent of coffee.

They all had their separate floors at Stark—scratch that, Avenger’s Tower, but after group missions, no one really had it in them to make it past the communal floor  ~~(it was the fourth or fifth floor down from the top, his brain was tired and he didn’t care for numbers at the moment)~~  mostly out of fatigue and convenience. It was the same floor with the medics that patched them up anyway, and there were plenty of bedrooms to sleep whatever the hell they had off without having to sacrifice much.

He heard distinct sounds of bodies moving towards his general area and he tensed slightly, a habit when he still felt fight surging through him; he ignored it all and focused on the slight heft in his hand of the coffeepot as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

They’d have to have a proper, full in depth debriefing later; they had already done a brief version on the way back and from where Steve sat at the island it was clear no one was really in the mood.

Natasha had her usual distant look on her face, the one she got after missions that exposed something or other she hadn’t figured out first; her hands cupped her coffee mug as she sorted what she learned out silently in her head. Her shoulder was resting lightly against Clint’s who was sporting a hell of a bruise along his jaw that made even Steve frown.

Bruce came in rolling up his sleeves; he always looked harried after having to deal with Hulk during fights and today was no different though at least he hadn’t fought them when they all headed back. Even Thor looked subdued where he sat on the other end of the bench that held Nat and Clint, at least they didn’t have to worry about him throwing down mugs after finishing his drinks…He usually left that for their drinking nights, the thought alone made Steve snort into his coffee.

Then there was Tony, who strode in after Bruce holding in one hand a shiny coffee mug with a lid and the other keeping an ice pack on his head…He had a hell of a shiner too, though he had also been bleeding from the head and Steve suspected he had a slight concussion. It was clear though that not even a concussion would keep that man from having a round of proverbial let’s poke it with a stick.

Luckily for all of them JARVIS interrupted whatever Tony had opened his mouth to start them off with—-

“I’m sorry to interrupt Sir, but there appears to be a group of people waiting in the lobby who would wish to speak with Captain Rogers at his earliest convenience…”

Steve sort of liked JARVIS, he still sometimes found it a little strange that the voice wasn’t connected to a person, but he had witnessed enough “person” in JARVIS to make him think that he had more sense than Tony some days. Not that he said that out loud, he didn’t feel like having to deal with Tony throwing a tantrum….again.

“Who are they?” It had taken Steve a moment to register the meaning of JARVIS’s message. Who the hell was coming to the Tower to find him…?

“They appear to be members of a neighborhood council, Sir. None have criminal backgrounds though it appears one or two might have outstanding parking tickets…” As he spoke JARVIS had brought up a live video feed of the lobby where sure enough there was a small group of about 8 to 10 people milling about; they looked like average folk and Steve stood his brow furrowed in confusion to go put on some actual pants…and a shirt…and shoes.

You didn’t just greet company in pajama pants and an undershirt, it might not seem or mean much some days but his Mama had taught him right and he had manners.

None of them understood what was going on, but two things were clear: JARVIS had not seen these people as a threat, and Steve intended to go downstairs to see what the group wanted. So naturally everyone else in the communal kitchen suddenly found reason to mill about or head downstairs.

They went in parts, so that by the time Steve had pulled on some clothes and stepped onto the elevator, Tony, Bruce and Pepper (he didn’t bother to ask when she had arrived) were the only ones watching the video feed in the kitchen.

Clint and Natasha had managed to make it down to the lobby, but other than giving a good morning after the older members of the group greeted them; simply loitered nearby still working through their coffee.

Steve only offered them a quick glance before he headed straight to the group, he counted 10 adults and 2 children, all ranging in ages from their early 20s to a woman who looked very much like she was well past 80 holding one of those big handbags in her lap with some sort of covered parcel on top. The kids caught his eye, the youngest seemed to be about 6 and hid behind who he assumed was the child’s mother as they shared the same wide green eyed look at his appearance, to a girl he would put at no older than 15 who was listening to the elderly woman fairly attentively. They clearly all knew each other though it seemed to him as he looked them over that only a few were related, but he could be wrong.

They weren’t exactly quiet as he approached them, but their excitement seemed friendlier than he would have expected, for some reason they reminded him of some sort of welcoming committee. He cleared his throat and tried not to let his confusion show through entirely.

“Good morning, how can I help you folks? Is something the matter…?” He watched as they all turned their attention to him, fully and a man stepped closer, offering him a hand to shake. Steve would put him in his mid-40s, he had broad shoulders and thinning hair as well as a full mustache, but his body stance and hand shake also told Steve this was a man who had worked with his hands all his life…there was something familiarly honest about him though, in the lines around his grey eyes.

“Hey kid! You look better than the news made out, good even stitches there. Can’t trust those damn reporters anymore, always making it more sensational than it already is; shame really. We were worried about ya, after that fight with those weird looking things, or was it HYDRA?” The man’s accent was what Steve recognized as Brooklyn now, but there was a lingering tilt around the edges of his words that were more familiar to Steve than he thought would be possible.

“Isn’t it always HYDRA?” A woman in her late 30s pushed a pair of glasses that screamed ‘no nonsense on my watch’ further up the bridge of her nose and gave the man an arched eyebrow and an amused look before setting her warm brown eyes on Steve. For his part, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if she was a teacher, she certainly seemed it for a moment.

“Nah, Justine, sometimes it’s just some idiot with those pointy horns on his head…” The man glanced at the woman, Justine, and made a curved motion as if coming from the top of his head.

Steve arched an eyebrow, amused, he was pretty sure they meant Loki.

“The Devil?!” The look on Justine’s face was something between amused confusion at her friend’s description, and the heightened look of discomfort at mentioning the supernatural by name. Steve knew she was religious just from that.

“Nah, the skinny idiot.” The man shot her a dismissive look at the suggestion, there was something about him that Steve couldn’t place, besides his name as it hadn’t been given yet.

“Are you saying the Devil can’t be skinny? Have you been skipping Sunday classes Don, this is why your Momma tanned your hide when you was little, you know.” Justine’s slightly incredulous look of frustration with the man spoke volumes about how long they’d known each other; it filled Steve with a pang of something he wasn’t sure he had any right to, not anymore.

“No, yeah I’m fine really. Did you all come down here to check how I was? Or is something the matter in your neighborhood?” Whatever was making these people seem familiar to him, in a way he couldn’t identify in strangers, also amused him in regards to the situation. This was bizarre.

“Oh, right sorry about that. I’m Don Russo, by the way. Mary brought you a cake, says you don’t eat enough (granted she says that about all of us, even me and some smartass kid thought I was pregnant the other day, you believe that?). No, besides that we came to see when you’re moving back. We brought you some lists of houses…granted, ain’t nothing in the neighborhoods as swanky as this, but they’re homey. You might need to do some work to make it more yours, but don’t worry none, I know a guy who has some guys he knows that are real good at plastering… I mean, ya gotta keep an eye on ‘em ‘cause you might end up short with copper, but I’m sure you could manage that…” His name was Don and the certainly with which he spoke almost overruled the alarm in Steve’s head as he just stared at them a moment, his brain catching up and speeding off at the very thought,  _oh…oh_  
  


“Wait, what? I can’t just move back to Brooklyn, it’d put all of you in danger!” He was met with silence, no not just regular silence, the silence that came with ruffled feathers. Great. He had stuck his big old foot in his mouth.

“What? You put on that suit and you think you’re too good for Brooklyn?” There it was, Don looked at him hard, with a sort of disapproval that spoke more of chastising than anger; Steve would have rather them be angry.

"No that’s not what I said! I just don’t want you all to be targets!" Steve felt like he had suddenly backed against a wall, his hands even came up, palms out trying to remind them without saying it that he wasn’t the bad guy here. There was a shift in the group, he could see frowns in some of their faces, but they weren’t as angry as he thought, just a little hurt. Somehow that was worse.

"Kid. You may have that shiny shield with the star and stripes—” Don crossed his arms, his round belly somehow making the overall stance of the man just…solid.

"There’s no stripes on it, Don…" Justine chided her friend and Steve was 98% sure that was the same voice teachers used with their naughty students who live to derail their lessons with misinformation…

"—But you’re still ours, you’re our boy. The kid from Brooklyn who did real good (but you gotta work on that form, kid. You connect kind of weird with your right hand, you left handed?) Ain’t no one coming in and making us targets. We’ll kick their ass, pick ‘em up by the scruff and then make ‘em sweep up the rubble. We take care of what’s ours, and that includes Super Soldiers with the weight of the world on their shoulders. So you look over these houses the neighborhood has up for sale, there’s a couple more too but you should stay away from Old Jack’s place, he thinks the Government is out to get him and God knows you move in next door and he’ll be running down the street in his tighty whiteys again yelling about the Illuminati and trying to poke you with a bent golf club, so we didn’t include any on his street but told you which ones are closest to him anyway." Don ignored Justine’s correction and kept talking, motioning to a smartly dressed man in his late 20s with a bowtie (the bowtie was more surprising that the stack of real estate papers in his hands).

The weight of the stack told Steve they were giving him information on more than just houses in their neighborhood and the sudden thought that this group of people who had come to see him might represent all eight neighborhoods in Brooklyn crossed his mind. The smartly dressed man move out of the way and Steve saw the teenage girl helping the elderly woman over, the lady didn’t really seem to need much help but the girl was carrying that covered parcel, he was pretty sure that it was a covered pan of some sort.

“Oh and you make sure to read over the letters from the Borough President, Steven. I know you’re a busy man, but you write him a nice little note back so he knows you read them, young man. It will only take a few moments. Here, I made you a nice apple spice cake; you share with your friends now. You’re all so thin, you have to eat properly, you know. Can’t have you out there not eating, right…Christ knows we pray for you all to come safe and in one piece. Bring them for potluck days. Thank you, Jessie, she helps me bake dear, nice girl, very smart…good singer, bad choice in footwear, we’re working on that…” This was Mary, Don had mentioned her earlier and the cake, but one look told Steve she was a Mary…and there was something about her that made him think of Nuns…He glanced at the teen girl, Jessie who blushed lightly but smiled and carefully placed the cake on top of the stack of papers; she had pretty light green eyes and a row of piercings down her ear that caught the light as she tucked a piece of the scarf she used to hold her curly hair behind her ears.

“Yes Ma’am…” Steve swallowed thickly as he realized what was going on, what this group of people was telling him, and he felt a knot in his throat and his eyes suddenly stung. He wouldn’t cry, not here, not now. They all moved closer to say their goodbyes, the little boy from behind his Mom’s leg still but Steve smiled wide, seeing he had a Falcon toy he was clinging to, he would have to tell Sam about that later.

They started to head out, waving goodbye to him and the others…Steve vaguely heard Tony’s voice behind him…

“Is that a cake?” No one answered Tony right away, but Steve could practically see the petulant twist of the lips that wasn’t quite a pout. “How come Rogers gets a cake? No one ever brings me baked goods.” He could hear the huffing between Tony’s words now, even as his own eyes focused on the group heading out the door…Don held the door for Justine and Mary, Jessie was talking animatedly with the little boy and the smart man with the bowtie was talking to the little boy’s mother.  “Probably because you keep breaking parts of the City, Stark” Nat’s dry answer didn’t surprise Steve any more than the snort he assumed came from himself and was echoed to his right.

“So what’d they need?” It was Clint, Steve was suddenly aware that he rarely felt judged by Hawkeye…not really anyway.

“Need? Nothing not really…” Steve’s mind was still on the words they had said, even as he watched Mary take Jessie’s arm and wave to him through the glass.

“Oh? And all this?” Clint nodded to the paperwork in his arms and the cake.

“They just told me to come home…Clint….” His voice had dropped a bit, but Clint only replied with a slight nod.

They were calling him  _home_ …home…Oh God, he ached all over.


End file.
